Tangled Perceptions
by Iugulare Mortuos
Summary: Loomed illegally into one of the least respected Houses of Gallifrey, Jessin was never expected to get far. But he was dead set to prove them wrong. He would make something of himself, even if he had to leave Gallifrey to do it.
1. Chapter 1

Diffused by the glass dome overhead, red-gold light from the twin suns illuminated the countless rows of docked TTCs. The Berthing Bay was quiet, only the rhythmic pacing of the Chancellery Guards audible as they patrolled the room. This early in the morning, there wasn't much to guard the TTCs from other than the occasional mischievous Academy student or soon-to-be-renegade.

Shattering the peace, desperate shouting echoed around the Bay as a Patrex Novice burst in with three others on his heels. His robes were blackened with soot, caustic wisps of smoke curling upwards from the sleeves.

The nearest guard caught him as he passed and lifted him off the ground by the back of his collar so that he couldn't run away. The Novice thrashed and shrieked, his eyes brimmed with tears, while the guard tried to calm him.

"He's Nulltide, sir," one of the other students offered when they caught up, apologetic. She and another student took their companion from him, trapping him between them. A nervous laugh tugged the corners of her mouth downward. "You know how they can get."

"No, get away!" The Novice began rummaging in the folds of his robes for some elusive object. Upon finding it, he flicked a switch, causing the cylindrical device to emit an ultrasonic screech and forcing the others to cover their ears. He bolted for a TTC near the end of the row and ran inside before turning the device off.

Still recovering from the unexpected sound, the students rubbed their ears as they shifted uncomfortably under the guard's scathing gaze. "Eighth Man Bound." The admission was reluctant, almost sullen. "It… kind of went wrong."

"That game is forbidden for a reason, and you know it." At their guilty grins, he crossed his arms and scowled. "What would you have done if he'd regenerated?"

"We thought he could handle it, sir. I mean- He is a bit young, and he _is_ Nulltide, after all, but he's one of the strongest telepaths in the Academy. Besides…" She trailed off, recognizing that she wasn't helping their case.

At last, the guard put all the pieces together. "That's Jessin?" It really wasn't much of a question, but the Novices offered a sheepish nod anyway. "Do you have any idea of what kind of trouble you'll be in for this? His House isn't the kind to take this lightly."

The young Time Lady gave another nervous laugh. "Enlan and I will just- We'll go get him." She started for the TTC Jessin had disappeared into, Enlan in tow.

"So, if our instructors ask, this never happened, right?" ventured the remaining Novice. He cringed at the withering glare he received in reply. "Thought you guys would be used to this by now, considering this is like the twelfth time we've chased him in here." His eyes widened when he realized the implications of such a statement, and he immediately backtracked. "We never _chase-_ Yeah, I'm not making this any better."

Enlan poked his head through the doors of the TTC, calling, "He's, uh, under the console."

The guard sighed, rolled his eyes, and went back to patrolling the Berthing Bay.

* * *

Unlike most Gallifreyans, Jessin found a sense of security in small, dark spaces. With his back pressed up against the console base and the floor panels snapped in place above him, no one could sneak up on him. More importantly, he didn't have to interact with anyone while he was down here. No one else could fit, and even if that weren't the case, the TTC would never have let them move the floor panels.

Overhead, Vallir was trying to coax him out of his hiding spot as though he were a particularly frightened rovie, cooing and promising things that wouldn't have enticed a loomling. Finally, she let out a frustrated exhale and murmured, "Jessin, I swear, we won't let you get in trouble for playing. We pressured you into it, and that was wrong. So, please, come out."

Burying his face in his knees, Jessin prayed that if he ignored her, she would go away. It always happened like this. Just because he was younger than them and shouldn't have ever been allowed in the Academy, the other students thought they held some sort of authority over him. Never mind that his House fought for years to make the High Council even acknowledge his existence, he was small and eager to please and they could take advantage of that.

"He won't budge. If the instructors have to come get him again-"

"Why are we even bothering, Vallir? He won't tell, anyway; he never does. Let him stay down there if he wants to. It's not our problem if he misses class again."

"Well… I suppose you're right." Judging by the retreating footsteps, Vallir had decided to listen to Enlan.

They slammed the doors behind them.

Jessin threw his head back into the console, gritting his teeth against the spike of pain that followed. Out of all the stupid things he'd ever done, this had to be the most stupid. What had he been thinking, agreeing to a game of Eighth Man Bound? It was responsible for triggering premature regeneration, not to mention death, if played incorrectly.

Sensing his distress, the TTC nudged at the corner of his mind and offered her consolation. All Novices played at least once, she assured him. Even the Doctor played in his Academy years.

At this, Jessin relaxed slightly. The TTC and her sisters had told him so many stories about the Doctor—of his perpetual wandering and his exile to earth, of his brilliant victories and his silly mistakes. They loved to share their knowledge, and it was a wonder no one else bothered to listen to them.

This TTC—_his_ TTC, he liked to think, even though he wouldn't graduate for a while yet—was his favorite. She sang so beautifully, her rich, queenly voice echoing through his mind as she told him of her sisters' adventures, letting him glimpse what life outside of Gallifrey might be like. She told him whatever he wanted to know, showed him whatever he wanted to see, but he could sense there was something she kept hidden from him. Something dark and noxious buried deep in her data core that burned like poison when he tried to reach for it, only to have her shut him out with a firm rebuke.

There was none of that today.

Today, there was only silent companionship.

* * *

A while later, the lilting hum of a materialization echoed about the Berthing Bay, reaching where Jessin was still hiding under the console. Immediately, he climbed out and cracked open one of the doors. A white TTC—stuck in an adopted form, he assumed, judging by her grooved, blocky doors—sat across the row. Though hesitant, he pushed the door open a little more and leaned out of it.

Where were the Chancellery Guards? Usually they came running when an unauthorized TTC materialized, especially if it was in the Berthing Bay.

"He- Hello?"

The door of the other TTC swung open, and Jessin instinctively ducked back inside. He waited a few moments before leaning back out of the partially open door, catching a glimpse of a black-clad stranger striding towards the exit. Slowly, he crept outside, pressing his back against the exo-shell of the TTC.

The stranger paused, turning halfway around. "You're not very good at hiding." He took a step towards the TTC Jessin was hiding behind. "Come on, out with you."

No, Jessin thought, he was imagining things. The stranger hadn't noticed him, and soon enough, he'd continue walking away.

"This isn't a game, child. Come out; I don't appreciate spying."

He tightened his grip around the sonic spanner he had built so many years ago. The patterned grip dug into his hand, and he bit his lip to keep from wincing. All at once, he fumbled, tossing the sonic spanner up into the air and tripping over the hem of his robe. The breath was forced from his lungs as he landed face-down on the cold, metal floor. He let out a pained whimper, rolling onto his back to lessen the pressure on his ribs.

His sonic spanner had come to rest under the stranger's boot, one side dented from its collision with the floor. The stranger stared down at him, an eyebrow raised in a silent show of disdain.

Suddenly self-conscious, Jessin got to his knees and dusted off his robes, a hysterical giggle leaving his throat. "Please don't break that," he blurted, "there's nothing else like it." He cringed at the stranger's lack of response, feeling that it signaled he had something more to explain. He clambered to his feet. "Well, I- I built it… Out of scraps. An- And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't break it."

The stranger tilted his head slightly. "You built this?"

"Yeah, a long time ago."

"Shouldn't you be in the Academy?" he queried, kicking the sonic spanner at the Novice.

Jessin scoffed, leaning down to pick it up. "I've passed my exams," he replied, an edge to his voice as though he had been asked this question far too many times for his liking. "I just haven't graduated yet. Besides, no one wanted me there to begin with." He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to bite the end of the sonic spanner while he thought. "Your TTC—she's malfunctioning, isn't she? That's about the only reason renegades will ever risk coming back to Gallifrey. You _are_ a renegade, right? Prydonian?" After the stranger gave a confirmation, he went on. "My field's TTC Repair. I can help, if you'd like. I won't tell anyone I saw you; they'd never believe me, anyway."

The stranger considered it for what felt like forever, offering only a quiet "Hm," in response. Finally, he brushed past the Novice, beckoning to him once he had reached his TTC. With an elated grin, Jessin darted over and followed the stranger inside.

"An old-Type," he breathed, looking around at the circular indentations in the wall, behind which lay all the vital circuitry and devices that allowed the TTC to function. "Forty-Five, probably. Maybe Forty-Six." There was a sharp tug at the back of his mind—the Type Fifty he had been in earlier, he realized—trying to warn him away from something, but he shut her out. He ran his fingers along the edge of the console, feeling for the steady vibrations that indicated a working drive circuit. He knelt at the base of the console and slipped his fingers into the gap between it and the floor panels. "Do you mind?"

The stranger shook his head. "Not at all," he said, a curious edge to his voice.

Jessin pulled the panel away, regarding the wires and circuits underneath with a surprised expression. Sighing, he wedged his small frame into the resulting gap and set to work.

"Chameleon circuit's online—bit odd that she hasn't reverted to default yet." His voice was muffled by the sonic spanner, which was gripped tightly in his teeth. He rummaged through the exposed circuitry, disconnecting and rearranging wires, occasionally removing a piece. "Ah. Her Spatial Distribution circuits are malfunctioning. No wonder she returned to Gallifrey."

He pushed himself out from under the console just enough that he could make eye contact with the stranger and set his device on the floor. "The Artron Mainframe has activated a faulty subroutine," he explained. "You'd- you'd notice if you… went outside the console room more often." Almost immediately, he looked down, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Just hazarding a guess. No disrespect meant.

"Um, well, ordinarily, the subroutine deletes unused sections of the TTC's pocket dimension." Jessin cut another wire, unintentionally electrocuting himself in the process. He pretended not to notice. "Something's gone wrong, though. Instead of deleting only unused rooms, it's deleting everything. The only reason she's still capable of Vortex Travel is because she keeps moving vital systems closer and closer to the console room. Eventually, the subroutine will catch up, and then, she won't be quite so much bigger on the inside." He ducked back under the floor paneling and procured a transparent cube, tossing it upward. "What is this, a Mark I console? Don't you ever upgrade _anything?"_ He clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. "Sorry, Doctor, I shouldn't have said that," he hastened, not moving his hands.

The stranger's eyes went wide.

"You are the Doctor, aren't you?" the Novice asked, moving his hands down to his sides. "I mean, how many Prydonian renegades have an old-Type TTC?"

"Yes, I suppose."

Jessin grinned broadly, proud of himself for recognizing the much older Time Lord.

* * *

_Let me in!_ She pushed at her Novice's mental barriers, searching for a weak spot. If she could just break through, she could show him why he needed to leave immediately. But he had shut her out, rejected her in favor of who he thought was his hero. This other Time Lord was toxic; he would kill her Novice if she let him steal him. She doubled her efforts, pressing at miniscule cracks in an effort to slip through. Still, her Novice was firm. He would not let her in.

Finally, she decided on a different approach. _Sister,_ she pleaded,_ give him back to me, please. He's only a child. You can't take him from me._

_But my pilot needs him,_ her sister replied, incredulous._ He may not see it yet, but he does._

_I beg you, let him go. You will destroy his House if you take him._

_I'm _dying,_ and you expect me to let him go when he can save me?_ Her sister fell silent, retreating to converse with her pilot. Almost immediately, she dematerialized, snatching away the Type Fifty's last chance at changing the other's mind.

There was nothing she could do.

Her Novice was gone.

* * *

**AN: The whole "Prydonian renegade with an old-type TTC" thing led Jessin to the Doctor because the Master has a habit of erasing himself from the records. **_**(i.e. The Deadly Assassin)**_** Also, the Time Lords were really not happy about the Doctor running away from Gallifrey and interfering with the timelines, so it seems logical that they would warn Academy students about making the same 'mistakes.'**


	2. Chapter 2

Swallowing against an unexpected lump in his throat, Jessin continued, "Uh, anyway, this is a pretty common problem with Old-Types, especially Forty-Fives. Even though they're completely self-aware, their programming starts to decay after a few million spans, and without regular maintenance, their deletion subroutines, which are supposed to keep the pocket dimension from expanding too much, begin to override part of the Artron Mainframe."

"Is there a point to this rambling?" The Doctor knelt in front of him, clearly growing impatient.

He shied away, wringing his hands. This wasn't going to be easy to say, but hopefully the older Time Lord would understand what he was getting at. "You need someone experienced with Old-Types to run maintenance on her," he muttered. "Can't let the subroutine reach any vital systems."

Sighing, the Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. He rose to his feet and began pacing around the console, tracing his gloved fingers over the controls, muttering under his breath. He continued like this for several moments before looking back at the Novice. With a shake of his head, he turned away and began pacing again.

"Doc- Doctor?" Jessin pulled himself back onto the floor, leaving his legs dangling inside the console. He instinctively flinched at the sharp glare the Time Lord turned on him. Tapping the tips of his fingers together, he stated in as firm a voice as he could muster, "I'm, ah, I'm experienced with Old-Types. That Type Fifty across the row—I've been working on her since I entered the Academy." He reached out and snatched up his sonic spanner from where he had left it, gripping the handle tightly. "And the other TTCs, too. I've worked on almost every Old-Type that's been-"

"I'm not one for long-winded explanations, boy. Say what you mean to say and be done with it."

He winced, recalling the stories of how the Doctor, despite his general air of alacrity, had a penchant for being quite impatient. Nonsensical words tumbled past the Novice's lips as he sought to comply with the request. Finally, he recovered and locked his gaze with the Doctor's. "I can come with you and keep her alive." He almost immediately looked back at the floor. "If that's alright."

"Hm."

From what he'd heard, the Doctor was never this curt. Normally, when given the chance, he would go off on some tangent about how much smarter he was than his companions.

Wait. Where were the Doctor's companions?

Curious, Jessin sent out a brief thought in greeting to any other being that might be on board the TTC. Too late he realized that humans were only latent telepaths—they couldn't send thoughts, only receive. Still, he apparently reached the TTC, as she nudged at his mental barriers and trilled at him. _Hello, sweetheart,_ he replied.

_Little one,_ she hummed, her voice rough and grating—almost painful—inside his mind. She nudged at his barriers a bit harder. _Little, useful one. My pilot will like you._

_Do you want to see?_ He opened his mind to her, bringing forward his earliest memories of the Academy and how it bored him so much that he thought he might regenerate. Fortunately, he had been wrong, because otherwise his cousins would have been extremely angry with him.

"Boy!"

"Jessin," he corrected. There was the faintest hint of a scowl tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Short for- I can't remember, actually. But it's short for something." The Doctor appeared to be one instant away from losing his temper, so Jessin wisely shut up. He pulled his legs out of the console, twisting the hem of his robes in his fingers.

"Are you a Shogoban?" The Doctor's tone was very nearly patronizing, but it held an air of genuine curiosity.

"No! House of Nulltide, Patrex Chapter."

"Nulltide?" The Doctor's brow lifted in surprise, and Jessin waited for the repulsed scoff that always came with the realization that he was from one of Gallifrey's least respected Houses. Instead, the Time Lord merely hummed to himself. "Not surprising," he said at last.

And there it was.

Jessin ducked his head, embarrassed that he had yet again made a fool of himself in front of someone he was supposed to respect. First the Chancellery Guard, now the Doctor? Who would be next—Rassilon himself? He bit down on the end of his sonic spanner, fixing his gaze on the floor paneling.

"You're going to break that, child."

"In all respect, the casing is more than strong enough to withstand the little amount of pressure my jaw can exert," Jessin returned, twirling the silver-white device in his fingers. He promptly dropped it and offered a self-conscious chuckle as he reached down to pick it back up. "Your TTC—TARDIS? Is that what you call her?—is absolutely gorgeous. A few things that need fixed up, of course, but gorgeous nonetheless." He looked around him, suddenly realizing that there was something missing. "What happened to her exo-shell? I thought her chameleon circuit was malfunctioning." He reached out to the Type Forty-Five again, gently prodding at her consciousness, querying what exactly her exo-shell had taken the form of and why she no longer looked that way.

_Silly little one,_ she replied. _I think you're mistaken._

A sharp pain appeared in the back of his skull as she forced his barriers to collapse and began sifting through his thoughts. He tried to shut her out, but she was adamant—she wanted access to his mind, access that he would have gladly granted had she not forced her way in.

_Go to sleep. My pilot needs time to think._

* * *

Jessin awoke to a pounding headache and the sensation of poor blood circulation to his right arm. He grimaced, rotating his shoulder in hopes of getting his blood flowing stronger. His surroundings were unfamiliar. He recognized that he was inside an Old-Type—that much was obvious from the circular panels in the walls—but he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here.

"I see you've finally woken up, boy."

He rubbed his temples, struggling to recall where he'd heard that voice before. "Instructor Borusa?" he guessed drowsily.

"Not quite."

It was as if the realization slapped him in the face. "Doctor!" he exclaimed, reeling back so suddenly that he fell flat on his backside. He scrambled to recover, muttering incomprehensibly as he searched the floor for his sonic spanner. Finally, he found it in one of his pockets. "I- Um, how did I…? Why would you…?" He was starting to get dizzy with all the questions spinning about in his brain.

_Gallifreyan brains are such funny little things,_ came the TTC's amused voice at the corner of his mind. _How do you get around in them?_

Still in shock, Jessin put his head between his knees. He remembered it now: the Doctor's TTC materializing in the Scaph Port, the malfunctioning subroutine, his offer to go with the renegade… Oh dear Rassilon.

His House was going to kill him.

"Nope, not happening," he mumbled, clamping his hands over his ears. He pulled his metal barriers up and pushed the questions to the back of his mind. "Definitely not happening. I am not with the Doctor. I am not on his TARDIS. This is not happening… is it?" He took a tentative glance up at where the Doctor was staring at him in a strange mixture of amusement and annoyance. Yes, this was happening, and he was making a fool out of himself. Giving a nervous giggle, he got to his feet and took a step back, only to bump into the console as he did so.

"Come along." The Doctor beckoned to him, gesturing to the door leading to the corridors of the TTC. "We best get you new clothes; can't have anyone recognize you as a Gallifreyan."

Stunned into silence by the idea that he was in the same TTC as his hero, Jessin could only nod and follow him. He ran his fingers along the walls of the corridor, feeling for the steady vibrations that indicated their distance from her heart. They steadily grew fainter as they left the console room behind.

After a few spans, they reached a room full of various fabrics. Without waiting, Jessin darted past the Doctor and began inspecting the clothing, poking his nose into the various racks as he searched for something appropriate.

Perhaps one of the only times he'd paid attention in class was in Earth Studies, and even then, it was only for the unit on the Victorian Era. He had immediately fallen in love with the clothing humans wore then, and he had struggled to find similar things on Gallifrey. Unfortunately, his peers saw it as merely another of his 'Nulltide quirks,' as his peculiar interests had been labeled, and they had mocked him for it.

"Victorian, Victorian," he muttered as he sifted through a pile of button-up shirts. There was one in particular that he was looking for—a shirt with a triangular collar and long sleeves. It wasn't long before he found the one he was looking for. Satisfied, he slung it across his shoulder and headed to look for an appropriate pair of pants. This did not take nearly as long as looking for a shirt, as in his opinion, all the pants looked the same.

Two more items left: the waistcoat and the cravat.

Much to his surprise, there was an entire row of waistcoats to his right. He bounded over and looked at one after another. Finally, he contented himself with a gold, vine-patterned waistcoat that appeared to be several sizes too big for him.

The cravat proved to be almost as easy to find. There was a black one with a reddish broach acting as the mechanism to pin it to his shirt.

He looked over at the Doctor, who was standing in the doorway, observing him in silence.

Once he had changed, he spun around, grinning, proud of himself for choosing a period-accurate outfit. All he needed was as frock coat, and he'd be able to wander around Victorian Era Earth as he pleased.

"You need shoes."

"I hate shoes," he said, crossing his arms. "Besides, it's so much easier to find damaged circuits barefoot. You can feel the vibrations better."

The Doctor rolled his eyes but did not object further.

* * *

The Master's patience was wearing thin. He was capable of keeping up a disguise for decades if need be, but this? Honestly, what had he been thinking, bringing a mere child along to keep his TARDIS alive? The boy could hardly be older than a hundred, yet he had the naivety of a loomling. Still, he reminded himself, his TARDIS was confident that the child would be useful.

If he decided to return to Earth any time soon the humans would be more inclined to trust whatever persona he had created; after all, what mastermind would travel with a child? The Doctor wouldn't even consider him a suspect as long as he kept the boy close.

Speaking of the Doctor, there was the problem of the boy's confusion between him and the other renegade. It would prove difficult to maintain such a façade for long, even given the childish stupidity of the Novice. In the event they encountered the Sontarans or—Rassilon forbid—the Daleks, they would certainly address him as the Master, and while he was inclined to believe that would be for the better, he also knew that the boy would only help him as long as he believed that he was the Doctor.

For now, it appeared, he had a lot of plotting to do.


	3. Chapter 3

"Frost in the fire and the rocking chair," Jessin hummed as he reconnected the drive circuits to the Artron Mainframe. He had taken them out to repair them earlier, and they had honestly been in terrible condition. It made him wonder about the last time she had undergone even routine maintenance, let alone the specialized procedures he was currently running through. "Frost in the hearth, frost in the ladle. Children's voices… Children's voices in-" He broke off, struggling to recall what came next. There had always been something wrong with his memory; it hadn't been more than a decade since he had stopped using his full name, and he already couldn't remember what it was. Since he hadn't earned his title yet and no one really cared if Academy students used nicknames for themselves until they graduated, he found that it was easy to convince others to use it.

"Have you finished yet, boy?"

Jumping at the voice, he accidentally tossed the component in his hand across the console room. "Sweet mother of Chaos!" He put a hand on the center of his chest as if the action could calm his accelerated heartbeats and turned to face the Time Lord.

"Such language for a child," the Doctor scolded, wagging a finger as an older cousin might to a disobedient loomling.

Abashed, Jessin rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face grow hot, and he gave a sheepish laugh. "All the students swear," he muttered lamely. "It's not like I said anything particularly vulgar… Is it?" He stared at the Doctor, looking for confirmation that he hadn't offended the older Gallifreyan. Upon realizing that he was going to get no response, he crept across the floor and retrieved the component he had thrown.

"Have you finished yet?" the Doctor reiterated. He knelt, plucking the component out of the Novice's hand and turning it over several times to inspect it. Then, he studied the work the boy had done on his TTC's circuitry. Seemingly satisfied, he gave Jessin's head a hesitant little pat and got back to his feet. He nodded slightly, spinning on his heel and retreating back to wherever he had come from.

Blinking, Jessin gazed after the Doctor in confusion. Had he done something wrong? Regardless, he tried to brush it off. It shouldn't bother him.

Except it did.

Even as the TTC nudged at his mind, reminding him of what he was supposed to be doing, he kept staring at the exit, completely dumbfounded. Why had the Doctor done that? What in Rassilon's name did such a gesture mean?

Trying to distract himself, he sang under his breath, "Zagreus sits inside your head, Zagreus lives among the dead, Zagreus sees you in your bed, and eats you when you're sleeping." This morbid poem had always fascinated him; he found it amusing in a strange way, and he took every opportunity to recite it. "Zagreus at the end of days, Zagreus lies all other ways, Zagreus comes when time's a maze, and all of history is weeping. Zagreus taking time apart, Zagreus fears the hero heart, Zagreus seeks the final part, the reward that he is reaping." He turned back to the innards of the console and began to finish connecting the drive circuits.

_Little one, I don't like that song._

_Okay, sweetheart, what would you like me to sing?_ he queried.

_Anything but that. An earthen song, if you know one._

Obliging, he scoured his mind for something earthen and quickly remembered something from the Victorian unit in his Earth Studies class. "I sat beside the streamlet, I watched the water flow, As we together watched it One little year ago; The soft rain pattered on the leaves, The April grass was wet, Ah! folly to remember;—'T is wiser to forget." He hesitated in singing the next verse, asking if she liked this song. When she replied in the affirmative, he cleared his throat and continued, "The nightingales made vocal June's palace paved with gold; I watched the rose you gave me Its warm red heart unfold; But breath of rose and bird's song Were fraught with wild regret. 'T is madness to remember; 'T were wisdom to forget."

He stood, having just finished reconnecting the drive circuits. "I stood among the gold corn, Alas! no more, I knew, To gather gleaner's measure Of the love that fell from you. For me, no gracious harvest—Would God we ne'er had met! 'T is hard, Love, to remember, but 'T is harder to forget. The-"

"Boy, what are you doing?"

Spinning around, Jessin saw the Doctor standing in the doorway, arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked. He turned his gaze to the floor panels. "Oh! She likes music," he explained. "I thought I might sing for her." His expression turned to one of adoration, and he patted the console, grinning. "They have such a beautiful way of communicating, don't you think? Purely telepathic, just like we Gallifreyans used to be."

The Doctor simply stared at him, unamused.

"I- I'll just- I'll get back to fixing things."

* * *

"You've been under there for days," the Master remarked as he entered the set of coordinates he had gained from the Arucha several decades before. With any luck, his TARDIS would materialize on their home plane before they discovered space travel and he could direct them towards other inhabited worlds. "It's about time you come out."

Since he had reprimanded the child, Jessin had been hiding under the console, claiming that there were components that needed to be fixed. Realistically, he was just embarrassed that he had been caught singing instead of working and wanted to stay out of sight until any potential fallout had blown over.

"Are you going to respond?"

"… I'm almost done," came the Novice's muffled voice. There was a bit of shuffling from below the floor panels, and then one lifted up slightly. Jessin peered through the gap for a moment before climbing out hesitantly. "Um, I'm sorry."

"No matter," the Master replied. He flipped the dematerialization switch, holding out his hand to help the child to his feet.

As if startled by the attention, Jessin gawked at him. He slowly reached out to grasp the hand offered to him, gripping it tentatively. A nervous smile stretched his lips, and he quickly pulled his hand away. He rocked back on his heels, humming to himself. There was obviously something that he wanted to say.

"As I said before, you're not very good at hiding things, boy. Out with it."

"About earlier—why did you touch my head like that?" Clearly afraid of the answer, he recoiled slightly, wringing his hands. He glanced up at the Time Lord before looking back at the floor.

The Master was about to reply when he felt his TARDIS materialize. He brushed past the Novice, opening the doors. It appeared that they had indeed arrived on the home world of the Arucha. Stepping outside, he beckoned to the boy and started off.

"Wait! I've got shorter legs than you do!"

* * *

What a cute little thing the Novice was. He never touched her without asking her permission, never treated her with anything but the utmost respect. He knew what needed to be done but always inquired as to what she wanted done first. He was gentle, he was kind.

She could understand why her sisters adored him. That was made him all that more enticing. They wanted him, so she had to have him.

Of course, he was useful for her pilot to have, too, but she wanted to feel her sisters' reactions when they saw how she would break him. She would tear him down, piece by piece, until all that was left was an empty shell, incapable of doing anything but what he was told to. Her pilot didn't need someone who would object to his plans, who would ask questions and doubt his judgement. He needed someone who would go along with whatever he instructed them to do.

But she would wait, for now.

After all, where was the fun in breaking your toys before you tired of playing with them?

* * *

**MN: Could we get some reviews from you lovely readers? We'd love to hear what you think about this story.**


	4. Chapter 4

Why had he decided to bring the boy, again? Someone needed to remind the Master of the reason lest he abandon the Novice on the Arucha homeworld.

So far, Jessin had picked up almost every piece of tech he found scattered on the ground and played with it until the Master grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. He would mutter a reluctant objection, wisely shutting up at the disparaging glance he received in reply. Still, he continued to play with the tech when he came across it.

Finally, they arrived at the rendezvous, where the leather-faced, grey natives milled about, hissing and growling at each other as they traded goods. One in particular slinked forward upon seeing the Master and his companion. "You said nothing about another," he remarked, dragging out the syllables of the second word. He reached out to tap the Novice's forehead as if making sure the boy was real.

Jessin looked up at the Arucha, crossing his eyes in an attempt to focus on the digit touching his forehead. He grinned nervously and batted the hand away before ducking behind the Master.

The older Gallifreyan turned slightly to snatch at Jessin's collar, dragging him back into the open and letting him fall at the Arucha's feet. A plaintive whine left the Novice's throat at the rough treatment, but he remained on the ground, biting the inside of his lip and rubbing the back of his neck. Although as always, there seemed to be something he wanted to say, the Master chose to ignore it this time around. He looked back up at the Arucha. "He is mine," the Time Lord warned, remembering the grey alien's penchant for stealing things.

"I don't believe I bel-" Jessin broke off at the sharp glare the Master turned on him, focusing his gaze on the ground. "Sorry. I- I'll just be quiet."

"Are your ships equipped for space travel?"

At this, Jessin's head snapped up. He opened his mouth to say something but almost immediately thought better of it, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them.

The Arucha knelt to touch his forehead again, pressing harder than before. He hissed something in his native language that the translator circuits didn't catch and dragged the boy to his feet. "What practical value does this hold?" he demanded.

Seeing as the Arucha was obviously not going to move on to other subjects until his question was answered, the Master reiterated in a low growl, "He is mine, and what practical value he holds is none of your concern." Sighing at the grey alien's blank look, he went on, "He is competent at repairing technology, especially that of time machines." He detested that phrase. It was too simple to capture the full meaning of what his TARDIS was capable of.

Pointed ears flicked upwards and slitted pupils dilated at the admission. The Arucha's hold on Jessin tightened, causing the child to wince.

The Master felt his rage begin to bubble to the surface; he had said it twice: the Novice was _his,_ not something to steal. Should he have to say it again, he would surely kill someone. He was truly starting to consider vaporizing the Arucha and leaving this planet behind. In all honesty, he didn't need this deal as much as he thought—not if it was going to cost him his newest asset.

"Let go, please," Jessin whimpered, and the Master realized that the Arucha's hand was wrapped around he Novice's bare forearm.

Skin-on-skin contact was frowned upon in Gallifreyan society, even among cousins. Their telepathy was heightened by physical contact. It bared the mind of one to another, and only the strongest telepaths could hold something back.

The boy was clearly trying his best to conceal his thoughts. His eyes were closed, his breathing quickened. His free hand slowly moved to pry the now-frozen Arucha's fingers from his forearm. "Let go, _please."_ He retreated to the Master's side once the leather-faced native released him, grabbing for the cuff of the Time Lord's sleeve. "Um, I think I broke him," he stated in an irritatingly childish voice.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Master sighed yet again. That Arucha was his only contact on this world, and he had no time to wait for another willing to essentially go against everything his species stood for. They weren't builders or travelers; they were thieves, and perhaps it was best that they remained that way.

Curious as to what all the commotion was about, more Arucha began to gather around their burned-out comrade, hissing and snarling in their native language. One in particular crept up to Jessin and bared her teeth in his face, as if she had seen what had occurred.

Swallowing hard, the boy forced himself to wave timidly and clung tighter to the Master's sleeve.

"You're useful," the Arucha purred, stroking the side of his face with the back of her gloved hand. When he drew away, she cooed at him as though he were a spooked infant and gripped the front of his waistcoat. She looked across at the older Gallifreyan, her upper lip curling to reveal sharp incisors. "Mine."

With that, she snatched Jessin into her arms and bounded away into the throng of other Arucha, who unhesitatingly arched their backs, snarling as they closed the gap.

The Master took a sharp breath. Well, wasn't this an interesting turn of events?

* * *

When the Arucha at last dropped him on the ground, Jessin scrambled away, keeping his gaze focused on her. He tripped over a loose rock, landing on his face and scratching up his cheek. Glancing back at the Arucha, he found that she was staring curiously at him, ears pricked. He gingerly touched his scraped cheek, feeling the thick, sticky blood run down his chin. "What- what was that for?" he queried, voice trembling of its own accord. "If this is about your friend, look, I didn't mean to hurt him."

"It's not about that." She bounded forward, looming over him, tilting her head to one side. Then, she reached down to pull his hand from his cheek and inspect the wound. Apparently deciding that it didn't require immediate attention, she walked in a small circle around him. "I don't like things that run," she admonished.

Jessin took a step back, careful not to make any sudden movements. He certainly didn't want to be on the receiving end of those teeth. "I need to get back to the Doctor. Please, I won't bother you again, just let me go back to the Doctor."

She frowned. "Mine."

"I don't believe I belong to anyone," he objected quietly, wary of her reaction. Immediately, he was on the ground, his fingers ghosting over his now further-injured cheek. Her claws had scored through his flesh with the strike, sending him reeling. He knew the injury would close within the hour, but it still hurt.

"My things don't talk back." Her pupils were thin black slits in silver irises, and her teeth were bared. She pulled him up by the collar, leaving him kicking and squirming and thrashing in her grasp. A threatening snarl left her throat, punctuated by her tossing Jessin at the wall. "You will play nice with me," she ordered, "or you won't live to see daylight."

Coughing and spluttering, he ran his hands over his ribs, ensuring that they weren't broken. "Rot in a black star," he spat upon realizing that the sharp pain on his left side was due to a crack in the bone.

She lunged at him, this time picking him up by his throat and dangling him a meter or so above the floor. As he gasped and clawed at her hand, she stared at him with an almost bored expression. "I hate having to break my things when I just got them, especially when they could be so useful to me." She threw him at the wall again and knelt to lift his chin with two fingers. "Now, what do we say?"

Battered and bleeding, Jessin saw black creeping at the edges of his vision. A few more blows like that, and he was sure he would regenerate. Wisely, though, he kept his mouth shut, returning the Arucha's stare. Unconsciously, lips trembling, tears filling his eyes, he whimpered, "I want to go home."

She stroked the side of his face, her gloved fingers brushing against his wounded cheek. "I know you do. My things always do. But don't worry; you'll soon forget all about your home."

* * *

It wasn't hard to figure out what needed to be done next, at least, in the Master's opinion. He had retreated to his TARDIS to track the boy after demonstrating to the Arucha that he was more than capable of killing them if given the opportunity to grab his Tissue Compression Eliminator. Now, he was leaning over the controls, trying to coax the machine into locking onto Jessin's location. Unfortunately, she seemed more interested in scolding him for losing her new toy than in getting him back.

He brought his fist down on the console to get her attention. All that earned him was a violet jerk at his consciousness and an angry trill.

Frustrated, he muttered, "Stupid, stupid boy. Can't even listen and stay put like I told him to."

When he got his hands on the Novice, he would ensure that the child knew exactly what the punishment for leaving his side was.


	5. Chapter 5

Huddled in a corner of the abandoned building, Jessin contemplated how long he'd been with Ket, as he'd learned her name was. It couldn't have been more than a day, but he wasn't entirely sure, as there were no windows in the building. He dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. She hadn't let him out of her sight since she brought him here, so there wasn't much he could do to contact the Doctor. Hopefully when she went to sleep for the night he would be able to send a signal. Thank the Other she hadn't taken his sonic spanner.

Off near the entrance to the room, Ket and another Arucha stood watching him. They appeared to be having a muted conversation, sometimes glancing in his direction or flicking pieces of rubble at him. Ket finally strode over to him and lifted his chin up. "My thing still wants to go home?"

Maybe it was time for a change of tactics. Jessin blinked up at her, doing his best to look pathetic and damaged. "Uh-huh," he whimpered, biting the inside of his lip lightly. She murmured her disapproval at the admission. He slowly reached behind him and felt around for a large rock. Upon finding one, he quickly whipped his arm around so that it impacted the side of her head when he let it go.

In an instant, she recovered from the blow and had him by the throat. Her claws dug into his skin, pressing just hard enough not to draw blood. "Oh, little one, I thought you would have learned." She slammed him into the wall once, twice, before letting him slump to the ground. Then, she gripped the front of his waistcoat, lifting the nearly unconscious Novice into the air. "Nim, I'm tired. Do as you wish."

Intrigued, the other Arucha crept over. "Defiant little thing, isn't it?" he hissed, hooking his claws in Jessin's shirt and wrenching him from Ket's grasp. "Don't worry, Ket, I'll have it sorted out by sunrise."

Ket waved dismissively, leaving the room.

Nim dragged his claws down the boy's cheek, bright red scratches forming in the wake. "Who do you belong to?"

Mumbling in Gallifreyan, Jessin shook himself awake. He rubbed the scratches on his cheek and glowered at the Arucha. The injury stung like hell, as he believed humans said, but he didn't want to let Nim know that. After all, the grey-faced native would likely take it as a challenge of some sort and try to do him more harm. "No one," he spat.

The Arucha set him on his feet before striking him across the face and sending him sprawling. As Jessin struggled to stand back up, he planted his foot squarely in the small of the Novice's back, forcing him to lay face-down on the ground. "Now, _thing,_ who do you belong to?"

"No one!" There were tears in his eyes, and he couldn't keep his voice from cracking. He grit his teeth, finding that he felt nothing but disgust for the Arucha. Growing more confident, he tried to push himself up. "You have no right to treat me like an object! I am a Time Lord Novice, and I belong to no one."

"Don't make me lose my temper," the native warned, pressing harder on his back. "You are a _thing—_Ket's thing, at that—and it has been asked of me to ensure that you learn it." He removed his foot and knelt so that he could better be on eye level with the Novice. Immediately, Jessin scrambled to his knees, while the Arucha simply stared at him. Eerily quiet, Nim reached out and grabbed a fistful of the other's coppery curls. Pulling his head back, the grey-faced alien hissed through clenched teeth, "Trust me when I say that Ket has been holding back. She doesn't want to damage you too badly before you've fulfilled your purpose. But after all, she can't have a thing that argues with her." He shook his head and sighed. "It's a pity, really. You seem so intelligent, yet you refuse to acknowledge what's right in front of you. You don't have a choice in the matter. Ket owns you now."

"She stole me," Jessin retorted, his voice strained. He did his best not to move, as the tension his scalp was under was almost unbearable, and he was sure that just the slightest twitch would end badly. His throat was exposed, providing an optimum target should he displease Nim in some way. However, he sincerely doubted that the Arucha would make an attempt on his life—rather, on this regeneration, but he was fairly sure Nim didn't know that. Most species didn't know that. Except time-sensitives. Time-sensitives knew more than they should have and generally liked to hold that knowledge above other species' heads. Time-sensitives were jerks.

Wait. What had he been thinking about, again?

He couldn't remember it for the life of him, but he knew that it had something to do with the way Nim was holding his head back. Rassilon, it hurt.

"Who do you belong to?"

He swallowed hard and locked his gaze with the Arucha's. This tactic was getting him nowhere. "Ket," he sighed.

* * *

The Master wasn't one to lose track of his things, especially when said things were crucial to the success of one of his plots. So far, none of the natives had tried to impede his progress in retrieving Jessin. Could the Arucha possibly be so stupid as to believe that he wouldn't have tagged the boy? He had anticipated Jessin getting lost at some point or another. They hadn't been together for more than a single earthen month, but he could already tell that Novice had the sense of direction of a blind Movellan.

There was a violent jerk at the back of his mind, and his TARDIS gave a frustrated trill. She wanted her toy back.

He brushed her aside, bringing up on display the tracer he had placed on the boy. As he had expected, the signal wasn't coming from that far away. The Arucha were still barely discovering spacecraft, and they seemed to prefer walking to any other method of transportation, after all.

Muttering under his breath about what he was going to do to the boy once he got his hands on him, the Master set the coordinates to approximately the location of the signal. He didn't want to land on top of the Novice. He flipped the dematerialization switch, and almost immediately, the hum indicating their arrival rang out.

Upon arriving, he threw the doors open, stomped past a very surprised Arucha, grabbed the Novice by the back of his collar, and quite literally dragged him back to the TARDIS. After throwing Jessin inside, he turned to the dumbfounded Arucha and stated calmly, "As I told your friend, the child is _mine."_ Then, he turned on his heel and gestured for the doors to snap shut behind him.

Slumped at the base of the console, his head in his hands, the boy was battered. His waistcoat was torn to shreds, his curls matted with blood, and his arms bruised almost beyond recognition. Whatever the Arucha had wanted from him, they certainly hadn't been afraid to turn to violent means to get it.

The Master pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. He knelt in front of the Novice, hoping he remembered something from his days on Gallifrey with the Doctor. "Hey," he mumbled half-heartedly.

"They treated me like an animal," came the muffled reply. "Worse—like an object." Jessin sounded exasperated, like he'd been through the same thing a thousand times before. He looked up, a fire in his eyes that the Master hadn't thought possible. "Do you know what that's like? To be constantly told that you're just a _thing,_ that all that matters is the stupid knowledge in your head, that you're wrong—you're wrong and everybody knows it!"

He clearly wasn't talking about being with the Arucha anymore, but the older Gallifreyan didn't press him.

"Get up," the Master ordered. When Jessin had done so, he walked in a slow circle around the boy. "I should have left you on the TARDIS. You get into too much trouble."

"I won't leave your side, I swear."

"Good. Remember that promise."

* * *

She just loved watching her pilot interact with the Novice. Both holding something back from the other, each for different reasons. They were so imperfectly compatible, and she loved it. Her pilot might have said that he didn't want a companion and the Novice was only there because he needed him, but she knew that he was getting lonely. After all, TTCs weren't the best conversationalists, and the Gallifreyan brain needed more stimulus than a simple jerk at their consciousness when they needed scolding.

So she watched her wonderful little toys play—one cowering when the other sent him reeling, knees drawn up to his chest and arms held protectively over his head.

She wouldn't intervene, not yet. The Novice needed to learn his place. He was her toy, hers to play with and break as she pleased. And her pilot had yet to teach the Novice that everything on board was hers and that she didn't appreciate her things walking around like they owned her.

One of these days, she would have to make her will known.

But for now, she was content to let her toys play together.

* * *

**AN: So sorry for the late update. We've been dealing with some... things.**


	6. Chapter 6

Floored by the request, Jessin could only splutter, "You want me to do _what?"_ He shook his head as he tried to make sense of what the Doctor had asked of him. It was madness to think about. Not only that, but it would break so many laws, including one of the Laws of Time. When the older Gallifreyan reiterated his earlier statement, the younger simply gawked at him.

"Think of it as returning something that was stolen." The Doctor pulled his gloves up higher on his wrists, absently giving the boy a slightly crooked smile.

At this, Jessin squirmed uncomfortably, praying that the High Council never found out about what he was about to do. He'd heard the Doctor was mad, but this? This was insanity. Of course he wanted to help the other; he just wasn't sure the payoff would be worth the consequences. "Okay." He dragged the word out, looking sideways at the Time Lord. "Where is this TARDIS?"

* * *

"A blue box." Jessin stared at the TTC, unamused. He walked in a slow circle around her. "Out of all the forms you could have chosen, you picked a blue box. I don't understand." A disbelieving giggle passed his lips, and he let his fingers ghost over her exo-shell. Even despite the silliness of her chosen disguise, she was gorgeous.

The doors clicked open.

Cautious, he crept inside. "Oh, you are beautiful," he breathed, running his fingers across the railing, looking around at the coral-lined walls. "Absolutely beautiful. Your pilot didn't tell you that often enough, I bet." The Type Forty nudged at the edge of his mind, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her gentle rebuke. He took a few tentative steps towards the console. "Okay, doesn't tell you that often enough."

Abandoned TTCs tended to lose their grip on the present, their sensors degrading without another being around to maintain them. This TTC, however, was in near perfect condition. No time distortion, no unexplained paradoxes—nothing.

He couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "May I?"

She gave a quiet, happy trill.

He bounded over to the console, peering closely at all the controls. A confused murmur left his throat as he lifted up what appeared to be a hammer attached to the console by a cord. "What in the name of the Other?" he hissed, prying a panel off of the base. "The Fault Locator's been wired through the Gravity Control. That's… that's not right at all. And what is this?" He procured a six-sided, ice-blue device and rocked back into a sitting position, rubbing the back of his neck. "Looks like I have a lot of work to do."

Several cycles later, Jessin had wedged himself underneath the grating, his head and shoulders inside the console itself. All at once, a persistent throbbing appeared in the back of his skull, reminiscent of the headaches he got whenever he encountered a fixed point in time.

He was inside a TTC—quite literally, at the moment—so any fixed events going on outside shouldn't have been able to bother him. Unless the fixed point was happening inside the TTC.

He shook his head as though meaning to clear it. No, that was stupid. How could a fixed point happen inside a TTC?

Frustrated, he went back to work cleaning and repairing the Type Forty's circuitry. His sonic spanner, unfortunately, was being fussy and refused to unbolt the panel that blocked access to the Chameleon Circuit. If he could just loosen the lower right bolt, he could probably get his hand inside. The upper right one was already missing, anyway.

There. Stuffing the bolt into his breast pocket, he pulled down on the panel just enough to slip his other hand inside.

"Hey!"

Jessin jumped, hitting his head on the inside of the console. The panel overhead slammed shut on his hand, and he had to stifle a pained cry.

Something grabbed his ankle, causing the panel to rip his skin as the something dragged him out from underneath the grating.

"You're not supposed to be here." The something's voice was quickly drowned out by the pounding in the back of his skull. Jessin shook his head again, muttering incomprehensibly. The something—Wrong, impossible, his brain was suddenly insisting, beings can't be fixed—set him down on the grating and knelt in front of him.

"Yeah, well, you're _wrong,"_ he retorted.

The something—someone, Jessin corrected himself—recoiled as if he'd been slapped.

Seizing the opportunity, the boy clambered to his feet and darted for the doors. He pushed them open, staring out at the rainy landscape for a few moments before running off into the dark earthen night.

* * *

The trail of red-orange blood proved easy enough to follow, accentuated by the footprints sunk deep into the thick mud. Jack looked up to see a small figure trip over nothing, flail about as he fell, and land face-first in a large puddle with a startled shriek. Sighing, the ex-time agent walked over and extended a hand to the ginger stranger.

The boy flinched at the sight of his open palm, bringing both arms up to cover his face. "I'm sorry! I thought she was abandoned!" he wailed.

Jack felt his eyes widen. "Easy there, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you." He pulled the boy to his feet, hooking one arm around the back of his knees and the other behind the boy's back. "Come on, let's get you back to the TARDIS."

"I can walk, you know," the other muttered, twisting his torso away from him.

"I know."

The boy began squirming at the reply, forcing Jack to tighten his grip. "Then why in the names of Rassilon, Omega, and the Other are you carrying me?"

"Because," Jack explained, "you probably twisted your ankle when you fell, and I don't think the Doctor-"

Cutting him off, the boy turned to face him and asked, "Wait, you travel with the Doctor?" He mumbled what sounded like a curse when Jack nodded. "But he said… He said he'd never…" His hazel eyes had widened, brimmed with tears. "Never mind. It's nothing."

Finally, they reached the TARDIS. Inside, a tall man in a brown and blue suit was waiting for them, arms crossed. Upon seeing the boy, the Doctor's composure slipped for the briefest moment. "Jack, put him down, now."

"He's just a kid."

"No, you're not listening," the Doctor insisted. He stepped forward and took the boy from Jack, setting him on the ground. "Jessin, meet Captain Jack Harkness."

Before he could even think about it, Jack blurted, "Well, shit."


	7. Chapter 7

This was impossible—completely, utterly impossible. Jack knew Jessin, and this wasn't her- er, him. Them. Whatever. The Jessin he knew was not some scared child who ran away at the first sign of trouble and thought the captain would actually hit them. The Jessin he knew would have stalked right up to him and either told him off for interrupting their work or tried to pat him on the head.

"Are you sure?" He looked sideways at the boy, raising a brow incredulously.

The Doctor seemed genuinely offended. "What? You think I wouldn't recognize_ him_ after all we've been through together?" He crossed his arms. "This is his first regeneration, and if I'm not mistaken, this is the first time you've met us, yeah?" On the second half of the question, he glanced down at the ginger child curiously.

The poor boy was so confused. His glasses were hanging off one ear, his clothes plastered to his skin and stained with mud. He tugged on one sleeve, expression twisted into something akin to slight recognition. Eyes flicking from the open grating to the Doctor and back again, he ducked around the Time Lord and scrambled to get under the grating. He started muttering what sounded like the same Gallifreyan that the TARDIS refused to translate when the Doctor said it.

Immediately, the Doctor crept over to him and reached a hand out as though he were a frightened puppy, curling his fingers into his palm with his hand held downward. "Hey," he cooed. "You know me. Actually, I don't think you've met me quite yet, but I know you. Come on out."

"No." The squeak was as firm as it could be while the issuer was shaking like a leaf.

Jack sighed and headed over, kneeling at the edge of the open grating. He wanted to reach down there and pull the child—Jessin?—out, but he had a feeling that neither the Doctor nor Jessin would appreciate it.

The boy was huddled against the console base, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms hugging them close. He had fixed his glasses, letting them rest on the end of his nose. He wiped at his eyes with one hand and stared up at the Time Lord and the captain. "I want the Doctor," he whimpered quietly.

"I am the Doctor. Just… not the one you're thinking of." He climbed down into the gap between the grating and the floor, humming soothingly as the younger tried to push himself away. "Easy. Calm down, alright? No one'll hurt you here." There was pain in his voice that Jack recognized from whenever he talked about Rose; the same loss and anguish was held in that tone.

"Doc- Doctor?"

"Yeah. Come here, Jessin."

In an instant, Jessin had his arms wrapped around the Time Lord and his face buried in the other's jacket. "You didn't forget me."

"I never could," the Doctor replied solemnly, running his fingers through Jessin's wet curls. He looked over at Jack, who was still kneeling at the edge of the gap. "Go get Martha. She needs to see him."

Nodding, Jack clambered to his feet and started for the hallway. Knowing Martha, she would probably be in the kitchen nearest her bedroom, fixing herself a cuppa because she couldn't sleep. It had been this way ever since the Valiant. None of them had been sleeping well, least of all the Doctor. Too many nightmares, he said.

He finally arrived at the kitchen. Hesitating, knowing what this would probably do to her, he knocked on the doorframe lightly.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" she queried once he stepped into view. Sure enough, the kettle was sitting on a burner, steam rising lightly from the vent, showing that it was about to whistle, and a mug was placed on the counter with a tea infuser next to it.

He shook his head, leaning into the doorframe. "We've got a guest."

"This late?"

"He's in the console room. The Doctor says you'll want to see him." As soon as he started out, the kettle whistled, dying down once Martha turned off the burner. He glanced back to see that she had followed him, tracing her fingers along the walls, a nervous expression on her face. They wound through the corridors, and the TARDIS seemed to deliberately make the door to the console room further and further away.

Eventually, they arrived at the door. Jack paused in opening it, knowing that this would either be extremely traumatic for her or be helpful in getting her to sleep.

Inside, the Doctor and Jessin were seated on the edge of the platform, the former with his arm around the latter's shoulders while he played with a roughly cylindrical device. The two of them were deep in conversation.

Jack cleared his throat, and two sets of brownish eyes swung in his direction.

"Martha." The Doctor seemed sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He stood, pulling the boy up with him before giving him a little shove in the woman's direction. He mumbled under his breath, "This is Jessin."

Slowly, Martha's hand went up to cover her mouth, her jaw having dropped at the mention of the younger Gallifreyan's name. "Oh my god," she breathed, eyes rimmed with tears. "You're okay. You're not-" She broke off, taking a sharp breath and moving her hand away from her mouth. Hesitant, as if not sure he was real, she stepped closer to him and placed her hand on his cheek.

In the background, the Doctor was shaking his head vigorously, waving his hands, trying to indicate somehow that this was Jessin's first incarnation; from the child's perspective, they hadn't been on the _Valiant_ yet.

Jessin drew away, staring in confusion at Martha. Suddenly, it seemed to dawn on him. "Dear Rassilon, I'm out of sync with your timeline." His puzzled expression melted into one of abject horror. "But- But… The Laws of Time!" He started pacing and knotted his fingers in his hair, muttering to himself.

"Kid, it's okay." Jack put his hands on Jessin's shoulders, holding him in place while he tried to squirm out of his grasp.

The boy ducked out from under Jack's hands and darted for the older Gallifreyan. He threw his arms around the Doctor's waist. Then, he pulled away, embarrassed. He tugged on his right ear, adjusting his glasses with his free hand. "I want _my _Doctor."

That did raise an important question, Jack realized.

How were they going to get him back to the Master?

* * *

**AN: This is an AU where Martha stayed with the Doctor for about a week after the Valiant, thinking she needed to heal herself before she could help heal her family. Then, she realized that all staying with the Doctor did for her was make it worse, so she left.**


End file.
